Don't Stay
by GoldenFlash22
Summary: Detective Harry Potter moved thousands of miles away, to the United States, to escape the emotional turmoil from his divorce. He should've known escaping wouldn't be easy, and neither would his life.
1. The Ex

**A/N: Hello everyone, and welcome to my new story. This fanfic is set 10 years after our favorite trio graduated from Hogwarts, but the three of them are all split up now. It will feature the trio most prominently, along with a few new characters I've created. You may see some supporting canon characters pop up now and again ... but keep in mind, it's 10 years post-Hogwarts, so these people don't exactly see each other every day.**

**Anyway, that's enough background. On with the story. I hope you enjoy, and please give it a review when you're through. I'll appreciate anything you have to say.**

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**Don't Stay**

**Chapter 1**

**---------------**

Paperwork.

If there was anything in the world Harry Potter hated more than dark wizards, it was paperwork.

Unfortunately for Harry, his job as detective in the Los Angeles Magical Protection Agency required him to complete paperwork -- a lot of paperwork.

Harry sighed as he looked at the coffee table in his rather modest flat … er, apartment. He'd transferred to Los Angeles from London 15 months prior, but he still found himself using British terms now and then. He caught hell from his American co-workers every time he used a Britishism, so he took it upon himself to correct himself when he used a British term, even if it was merely in his own head.

Anyway, his coffee table was now groaning under three 2-foot high stacks of paperwork from old cases. Harry had let the piles build up for months, promising his lieutenant he would complete the paperwork but never actually doing so.

His procrastination had worked like a charm … until that afternoon. His lieutenant had cornered him at the office and asked him why he hadn't turned in his paperwork as promised. After 90 seconds of Harry's hemming and hawing, the lieutenant told him to turn the paperwork by 8:00 the next morning or find work elsewhere.

Harry looked at his watch: 8:00. He had 12 hours to complete three months work of old case files, and he had to do it thoroughly or risk getting disciplined by his boss for doing a half-assed job.

Harry sighed again. He had no doubt this would be an all-night job. Sinking into the squashy blue couch directly facing the coffee table, he picked up the first file. Frowning, he looked at the suspect's mug shot.

_Matt Gruenwald, _the name read in bold, all-caps lettering above the photo of a scowling middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a jagged scar on his cheek.

Harry closed his eyes, remembering the case. He and his partner, Charlie Lane, had investigated Gruenwald for smuggling dangerous creatures into the United States from Canada. After four months of legwork, they raided a Wisconsin house belonging to Lane, uncovering 11 species of different deadly creatures. It had been the largest bust of its kind in nearly a decade. The agency buzzed with excitement for nearly three weeks after the discovery.

After glancing through a copy of Charlie's case notes, Harry got to work, detailing the investigation in his familiar spiky writing. Twenty minutes later, he was finished with his description. Harry looked at his summary and nodded his approval. _Good enough,_ he thought.

He placed the Gruenwald file on the cushion next to him, creating an unofficial "finished" pile.

With yet another sigh, Harry picked up the next file. Before he opened it, however, his thoughts turned to Charlie, wondering what his partner was doing now. Charlie had invited him for a night out on the town, but he'd had to beg off, using his mound of paperwork as an excuse. _Life isn't fair,_ Harry thought. _He gets a night out on the town; I get a night of this. _

Of course, Harry wouldn't have gone out on the town even if he could.

It wasn't that he didn't like Charlie; in fact, he considered the blonde his closest friend in America. But despite Charlie's frequent invitations for nights out at the pub … er, bar … Harry continued to refuse.

There was a simple explanation for Harry's reluctance to hit the town: his divorce. Since his marriage fell apart a year and a half ago, he had shunned human interaction.

The divorce had rocked Harry. His friendships took a hit, and his work performance suffered. Eventually, not wanting to deal with any more of the fallout, Harry fled London. But even though he was thousands of miles away, the divorce still affected him. He didn't have to deal with any of his former friends and acquaintances anymore, but he still had to deal with himself -- and that was hard enough.

Harry sighed again, this time for a different reason. He didn't know how long it would take for him to get over the divorce, but at least in America he wouldn't have to see his ex-wife anymore.

He opened the file, looking at the smug expression on the face of William Dekker. For the first time, Harry was thankful for the mounds of paperwork; if anything, it would provide a nice distraction from his gloomy thoughts.

That thankfulness faded quickly, as Harry realized why he'd put this paperwork off for so long. It was tedious work that never seemed to end, but finally it did.

After closing the final file over Frank Edwards' grim expression, Harry rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch.

He groaned: It was 6:15. _No rest for the weary, I guess, _he thought.

---------------

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Charlie Lane was saying an hour and a half later when Harry shuffled into the Los Angeles Magical Protection Agency squad room, still half-asleep. "And might I put emphasis on _dragged,_" Charlie continued.

"Oh, sod off," Harry mumbled, collapsing into the desk opposite Charlie's.

"I'm sorry. I don't speak British," Charlie said, grinning. "What was that again?"

"Just insert whatever verb you'd like in front of 'off,'" Harry said. "Just make sure it's a four-letter verb." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his magically shrunk files of paperwork.

"Wow," Charlie was saying. "They make everything travel-sized now, don't they?"

"Do you always have to be so damned cheery at 8:00 in the morning?" Harry grumped, pulling out his wand and restoring the files to their proper size. To tell the truth, he didn't mind Charlie's teasing. It usually made the days go faster.

Charlie Lane was known as the jokester of the Los Angeles Magical Protection Agency, or LAMPA, as some of the lazier detectives had taken to calling it. Charlie had joined the agency right out of Camelot Wizarding School in Los Angeles. Now in his mid-20s, Charlie made up one-half of the agency's top detective team, though you wouldn't know it by looking at him. He was of average height and average weight, with short blond hair and blue eyes hidden behind nondescript wire frames. Charlie had told Harry once that part of the reason he joked around so much was so he could stick out from his rather average looks.

Harry had become the other half of the top detective team after transferring from his job as top Auror at London's Ministry of Magic following his divorce. His reputation as Voldemort's vanquisher had preceded him. Voldemort hadn't made much of a stir in the States at all, so Harry wasn't treated as the great wizarding hero here. That became patently obvious on Harry's first day at LAMPA, when his new partner spent the entire day ribbing him for what he called a "butchery of the English language."

Now, Harry considered Charlie a friend. He marveled at how fate seemed to have given him a replacement for Ron in the United States … though he didn't really need a Ron replacement, as the real Ron was alive and well and starring for the Chudley Cannons back in England.

"You weren't the only one who had a long night, you know," Charlie said, watching Harry put his re-grown paperwork into neat stacks to carry into the lieutenant's office. "Even us fun-loving types are tired."

"Oh, please," Harry said, pausing in his task. "If you're tired, then I'm the Queen of England."

"Well, you'd better start practicing your wave, Your Highness," Charlie said, raising his right hand to his right eyebrow in a mock salute. "Because I didn't get any sleep either."

Harry laughed in spite of himself. "Whatever you say, Charlie."

"You would know if you'd gone," Charlie said. "Lots of beautiful women there last night who would have loved meeting a man with a British accent. For some reason, women seem to dig the fish and chips factor."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not exactly beating them off with a stick."

"Maybe that's because of the 'leave me alone' look you've got permanently attached to your face when you're around women," Charlie shot back. "C'mon, man. I know you got divorced, but that doesn't mean you have to swear off women forever."

"In fact," Charlie said, "I'm going to take it upon myself to find you a woman." Harry snorted in reply. "You scoff, but I'm going to make it happen. What are friends for?"

"Please," Harry said. "I have a hard enough time believing you find women for yourself, let alone women for me."

"Oh, I've got plenty of options for you, my friend," Charlie said. "For example, what about Gina?" he asked, indicating Gina Moore, a pretty but vain fellow detective. "She told you the other day that you reminded her of James Bond. That's got to be a good thing."

"Yes, but she also probably thinks James Bond is a real person," Harry said. "I think that would qualify as a bad thing."

"True," Charlie said, rubbing his chin. "Besides, office relationships never work out well anyway."

Harry grimaced, but the effect was lost on Charlie because their lieutenant's secretary, a middle-aged woman named Etta Hughes, had suddenly materialized in front of them.

"Etta, what brings you here?" Charlie asked. "If you've come to ask me out, I'm free next Tuesday evening."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Etta said, "but no. The lieutenant would like to see you both. And he told me to tell you," she continued, looking at Harry, "that you'd better have your paperwork done or you can expect nothing but shoplifting cases for the next year."

"Don't worry," Harry said, grimacing at the thought. "It's done."

"I wasn't worried either way," Etta said, leaving.

"Well, time to meet the boss, I suppose," Charlie said. "Shall we, partner?"

"We shall," Harry said, "but only if you help me carry some of this."

Charlie sighed. "Manual labor. Oh well, ladies dig muscles too." He picked up the smaller of the two piles on Harry's desk and immediately staggered. "So when I actually get some, I'll be even more irresistible."

Harry chuckled, easily picking up the other pile. "Come on, partner," he said, leaving a still-struggling Charlie in his wake as he strode toward the office. "Don't want to leave the boss waiting."

Charlie grumbled. "Show-off."

---------------

Lt. Joe Brooks exuded power. At 6-foot-4 and a burly 220 pounds, he looked precisely like the type of man a person shouldn't mess with. And in this case, looks were not deceiving. Before his promotion, Brooks had been Charlie's partner, specializing in the nearly impossible-to-crack cases. He was a 20-year veteran of the agency and professed to have seen it all. As such, he had little patience for incompetence from his detectives.

"Morning, lieutenant," Brooks heard. He looked up and saw Harry Potter, standing with a huge stack of files in his arms.

Brooks raised his eyebrows. "Finally decided to complete your paperwork, I see." At Harry's nod, he spoke again. "Well, congratulations. Just put it over in the corner, there," he said, waving a dismissive hand.

Harry obliged. "Now, where's Lane?" the lieutenant asked.

"I'm here," said Charlie, lurching through the doorway into the office. "Got a place where I can put all this down?"

"Over there," Brook said, indicating the corner where Harry had just finished placing his files. Charlie staggered over there and dropped the files with a large THUMP. Fortunately, though the pile wobbled, it did not fall over. Brooks and Harry both rolled their eyes.

"So, what's up boss?" Charlie asked, returning to stand next to Harry before the lieutenant's desk.

"Got a new assignment for you two," Brooks said, leaning back in his chair. "It's an important one … bigger than the Gruenwald case, even."

Harry and Charlie glanced at each other, frowns coming to their fact. If it was bigger than the Gruenwald case, this was a big case indeed.

Charlie spoke up. "So what's the case, sir?" he asked.

Brooks leaned forward. "Let me find the file for you." His eyes racked the top of his desk. "What the hell?" he said, rummaging through the stacks of paperwork that covered his desk.

Harry and Charlie shared a grin. Their lieutenant may have been intimidating, but one thing he wasn't was organized. His reputation as a pack rat was well-known throughout the office, and it was probably his most major shortcoming as their commanding officer.

"Where the hell is it?" the lieutenant was saying. "I just had it a minute ago." He opened his top right drawer and searched it, tossing pencils and notepads onto the floor as he did so. Not finding it, he opened his top left drawer, slammed it shut quickly and opened the right drawer again. "Damn it!"

"Sir, why don't you just tell us what you know and get back to finding it later?" Harry suggested.

"All right," Brooks agreed, still picking up the files on top of his desk and looking underneath. "But I don't know where it's got – wait, here it is," he said, picking up two thick files that had been in his field of vision the entire time. "Here you go," he said, handing them each a file. "Here's the proper background on the suspect: known acquaintances, possible locations … you know, the works."

Harry flipped open his folder. Glaring up at him was the countenance of someone named …

"Regis Daniels?" Charlie asked, frowning. "Well, I can see why he turned to a life of crime. Imagine being named 'Regis.'"

"That's just one of many known aliases," Brooks said. "But it's the one he uses the most, so we've taken to calling him that."

The lieutenant sighed heavily. "Anyway, it seems our good friend Mr. Daniels has come to the good old USA from across the ocean. The London Ministry of Magic has been chasing this guy for over a year now."

Harry frowned at the name of his former employer. "For what?"

"Well, it seems he started out small after he finished his schooling," Brooks said. "Petty theft, potions smuggling, minor stuff like that. Illegal, but not wholly dangerous. About a year ago, he stepped up his game. Kidnapping, assault, possibly murder. He's linked to several disappearances of high-ranking British officials, including the Minister of Magic's personal aide."

"And now he's here," Charlie said. "Why?"

"The Aurors – the British detectives working the case," Brooks added, seeing Charlie's confused expression, "believe he is part of a larger organization, one that has international tie-ins. Ergo, they believe he came to America either to meet with someone from the group or to execute something the group has planned – something major."

"How involved is he with this group?" Harry asked. "Is he a foot soldier or a major player?"

"Our British friends estimate he is a major player, but not _the_ major player. To put it simply, they don't consider him the head of the dragon – more like the shoulders."

"And what do we want to do?" Charlie asked. "Take him down, or bring him in to find out more about this group?"

"Right now, our priority is finding him and tracking his actions," Brooks said. "We'll go on from there. Any more questions?" Harry and Charlie shook their heads. "Good. I suggest you go out there and read the case notes. And when I say I suggest you do it, I mean -- "

"Do it," Charlie finished. "Understood." They turned to leave, but stopped when Brooks spoke up again.

"Oh, and one more thing," the lieutenant said. "The London Ministry insisted on sending one of its Aurors over to assist with the case. They feel it's proper, considering their involvement with the case." Brooks' tone indicated he didn't think it was "proper," but his hands were likely tied. "Either way, she'll be joining us sometime this afternoon."

"She?" Charlie asked.

The lieutenant shrugged. "That's what they told me."

---------------

Charlie yawned as he flipped to page 50 of the extensive case file on Regis Daniels. He had been eager at first to find out more about the suspect, but that feeling had passed quickly. Whoever had written this case report apparently had nothing but time on their hands, as they'd detailed pretty much a minute-by-minute account of Daniels' life. While Charlie knew the case was important, he didn't much care about Daniels' trip to Florean Fortescue's ice cream shop.

Putting the file down and stretching, Charlie looked at the desk opposite his and snickered. Harry was asleep, his file resting on his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took. _At least he isn't snoring,_ Charlie thought.

Charlie opened his right-hand desk drawer, looking for something. He searched for a few seconds before finding a piece of paper with the telephone number of a girl he'd met at the bar last week. He considered it for a second, then shrugged. "Oh, what the hell," he said. He balled it up quickly and hurled it at his sleeping partner, landing a direct hit on his forehead.

Harry jerked awake. "What the hell?" he asked, grabbing blindly for his wand. Then he saw Charlie trying – and failing – to keep an innocent expression on his face. Pretty soon, he was howling with laughter, sputtering out, "You – should – have – seen – the – look – on – your – face!" then dissolving into laughter again.

"All right, all right – very funny," Harry said. "Are you quite done?"

Charlie sobered. "Oh, all right," he said. "But you have to admit you had a pretty violent reaction to a piece of paper."

"Is that what it was?" Harry asked, rubbing his forehead. He searched the ground and spied the piece of paper. He was about to throw it in the trash when Charlie put up a hand to stop him.

"Wait," he said. "I might need that. Give it back."

"What is it?" Harry asked, smoothing it out. "Whose number is this?"

"Nobody you'd be interested in, I'd wager," Charlie said. "Girl I met in a bar. I don't think she's your type."

"And why is that?" Harry asked, tossing the paper in the vague direction of Charlie. It landed with a flutter on his desk.

"Well," Charlie said, "she's attractive, and she knows how to have a good time. Clearly not your type."

"Wouldn't the 'attractive' part mean she's not your type either?" Harry countered.

"Ouch," Charlie said, chuckling. "Touche. But not to worry, I've already found your perfect mate."

"And who would that be?"

"Whoever wrote this report," Charlie said. "Clearly they don't understand the concept of fun."

"That bad?" Harry asked. "I didn't read it."

"I figured that, Sleeping Beauty. Don't worry; I think I read enough for the both of us. Besides, we can always ask the Brit when she gets here."

"What time is she getting here again?" Harry asked, looking at his watch. It was 12:30. _At least I got some sleep,_ he thought. _Don't want to make a bad impression on our guest of honor._

"Any idea who it's going to be?" Charlie asked. "You did use to work there, after all."

Harry shrugged. "No idea. The office is so big I wouldn't even wager a guess."

"Hmm … well, OK. Hopefully it's someone who won't drag the investigation down." Suddenly, his expression lit up. "Well, speak of the devil. That's probably her now. And oh, she's not bad-looking. We might have to set the two of you up."

"What?" Harry whirled around. He saw Brooks talking to someone, apparently female. Charlie had the better view; all Harry could see was tied-back brunette hair. "I can't see her," he told his partner.

"Then get over here and look," Charlie said. "But try not to make it too obvious."

Harry hurried to his partner's side, then craned his neck to better see what his partner saw.

He caught a glimpse of the guest and paled. "Oh my God," he said.

Charlie turned and looked at his partner, puzzled. "What? Someone you know?"

"I'd say so," Harry said, color rising to his cheeks. "It's my flipping ex-wife."

"Really?" Charlie said, whistling. "My, Harry … you had yourself a good one."

"Oh, shut up, you idiot," Harry said. "I've got to hide!" He crouched down next to Charlie, hidden by the desk.

"Oh, well done," Charlie said. "She'll never find you there."

"Shut up," Harry said again, his heart pounding. _Of course they sent her, you idiot_, he was thinking. _She's their best agent._

"They're coming this way now," Charlie was saying. "Want to act like a man by standing tall and facing her?"

"No."

"Suit yourself, then," Charlie said, rising.

"So, this is where our top detective team works," Brooks was saying to the Auror as they approached Charlie's desk. "We'll get you a desk too, so you can work more closely with them. And this is one-half of the team, Charlie Lane."

Charlie put his most charming smile and extended his hand. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, clasping her hand for a second and shaking it. He received a nod in return.

"I'm not sure where our other top detective is," Brooks told her. "He was here not too long ago."

"Oh, don't worry," she said. "I can see him. He's hiding behind the desk."

Harry flushed, knowing he was caught. Slowly, he rose to his feet to greet his ex-wife.

"Hello, Hermione."

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. Free cookies for anyone who reviews! **


	2. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

**A/N: Thanks for your kind reviews for Chapter 1. I appreciated seeing them, even if there were only two of them so far.**

**Let me take this opportunity to explain this story a bit further. Because of the failed marriage between Harry and Hermione, this story is decidedly A/U when compared to Book 7 and the epilogue. Consider this story canon through Book 6, but splitting off thereafter. **

**The only event that happened in Book 7 that definitely happened in this universe was Harry's defeat of Voldemort. Other than that, things are different; you may even see some characters who died in Book 7 pop up in this story. We'll just have to see.**

**Anyway, this story will be updated every Tuesday evening, and I hope to see some more reviews. Chapter 1 had 219 hits, but only two reviews. I would like to receive five reviews per chapter; it's a modest goal, but an attainable one in my opinion. So if you could just take a couple minutes and let me know what you think, I'd be grateful. If you loved or hated something or someone, please let me know. If you have any suggestions/questions/comments/criticism, I'd be glad to take them into account.**

**Whew. That's enough speechifying for now. Here's Chapter 2. I hope you enjoy!**

**---------------**

**Don't Stay**

**Chapter 2: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner**

**---------------**

As the star keeper for the Chudley Cannons and the English National Quidditch team, Ron Weasley had met his share of over-the-top fans.

Because of this, he'd had anti-Apparation wards installed in the flat he shared with Luna Lovegood, his girlfriend of two years.

"Can't be too careful, you know?" he'd said to Luna when he suggested the idea.

Luna had been keen on the idea as well, but instead of unruly Puddlemere United or Bulgarian Quidditch fans, she was worried about keeping out Scottish Sharpsnouts and Long-fanged lemurs.

Ron had shrugged. _Whatever works for her works for me,_ he thought.

But Ron wasn't thinking about the anti-Apparation wards as he dragged his tired body into the flat on this Tuesday evening. His mind was centered more on taking a shower and getting something to eat for the first time that day.

Ron considered himself a hungry person in general, but his usual hunger was magnified thanks to the Cannons' extra-long practice that day. Because the Cannons were one win away from the National Quidditch League championship game, coach Norm Banks had been flying his team ragged for the past 10 days.

This day had been more brutal than the previous nine combined. With the semifinal match against Wimbourne just four days away, Banks had ramped up the intensity to a fever pitch. Ron had spent the entirety of his afternoon blocking Quaffles hurled by the Cannons' scout team, which was emulating Wimbourne's talented and experienced chaser line. He'd seen so many feints that he feared his eyes would become permanently crossed.

Of course, Ron didn't care if Banks performed Unforgiveable Curses on the team if it meant they would win a championship. He'd battled his entire career for this chance, and he wasn't about to let it slip away now. This was the best chance he'd had for a championship in his career.

His championship hunger aside, Ron was sore as he let himself into the empty flat. Luna was away on official Quibbler business. After taking over the magazine from her father three years ago, she had built it into the most respected investigative magazine in the wizarding world. Tonight, she was investigating alleged misdeeds by the Department of Mysteries, leaving Ron to fend for himself.

Ron hated being alone. He wasn't used to it, having grown up in such a large family. He especially hated eating alone because with nobody around to supervise, he tended to overeat. He hoped that wouldn't be the case tonight.

Standing in his empty living room, Ron pondered his next move: shower or food? He was hungry, but he also knew he smelled and could certainly use a shower.

He asked himself again, this time out loud. "Shower or food?"

His stomach growled in response.

Ron smiled. "There's my answer, I guess."

---------------

Ron was halfway through his third sandwich when he heard it.

_Crack. _

He froze, his half-eaten sandwich inches from his mouth. The sound was unmistakable: Someone had just Apparated into the flat, breaking through the strongest wards the Ministry of Magic had to offer.

Ron put down his sandwich, instantly alarmed. It would take an extraordinarily powerful witch or wizard to break the wards -- even he couldn't do it, and he liked to consider himself above-average in terms of power. The only people he knew who could break through were Harry and Hermione, and they would call first.

So who was it? Ron didn't know, but he did know he had to be careful finding out.

Leaning forward in his chair, Ron strained to hear what was going on in the living room. He heard muffled footsteps moving toward the back end of the flat, as his visitor was apparently heading toward Ron and Luna's bedroom. He heard the door open, then close again as the footsteps began to get louder. Whoever the footsteps belonged to was now heading this way.

Ron looked around the kitchen frantically, searching for something he could use to defend himself. His wand was lying in the living room, on the coffee table where he'd tossed it before he went into the kitchen. He mentally flogged himself: _Idiot. Didn't you learn anything from Moody? Constant vigilance, remember?_

Ron shook his head, clearing it. Such thoughts would do him no good now. He continued to look for a weapon, his eyes finally lighting on a spatula lying on the counter. He snatched it quickly, thinking, _Yeah, that'll do you a lot of good against someone powerful enough to break these wards_. He shook his head again to remove this also-unhelpful thought.

The footsteps had paused again in the living room, and Ron heard something rustle as his visitor picked it up. He closed his eyes, realizing it was his cloak. His visitor now knew he was here, and there was only one place left he could be.

Sure enough, the footsteps started again, this time heading toward the kitchen.

Ron looked around quickly, searching for someplace to hide. In his mind, his only advantage was the element of surprise, and popping out from somewhere unexpected would increase that advantage.

Unfortunately, there were no good hiding spots in the small kitchen.

"Bloody hell," Ron said as he heard the footsteps getting ever-closer. He sprinted across the kitchen, pressing himself against the wall next to the entrance. He thought he could jump out at the last moment and wrestle the intruder's wand away from him.

The footsteps grew even louder. Ron guessed the intruder was now only a couple steps away from the kitchen. _It's now or never, _he thought.

He made his move. Spatula raised and ready to strike, he leapt to block the doorway.

Then he froze.

Standing a few feet away from him was his best friend, Harry Potter, whom he hadn't seen in more than a year. And Harry looked angry -- no, strike that, Harry looked _pissed._ And his wand was raised as if to strike.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, chuckling in relief. "Harry, you scared me!"

Harry didn't say anything, still glaring at Ron. His wand stayed where it was.

Ron's relieved chuckles turned into nervous laughter. "Harry, you can lower your wand now."

He didn't.

---------------

Ron looked across the kitchen table at his best friend, who looked stonily back at him. Harry still hadn't spoken since he'd encountered his best friend a half-hour before. It had taken a great deal of convincing on Ron's part just to get him to lower his wand and sit down at the table. That had been 15 minutes ago, and right now it looked like the silence would stretch on infinitely.

Hearing his stomach rumble, Ron looked forlornly at his forgotten sandwich from earlier. It was just sitting there, teasing him, tempting him. He cast a dubious glance at Harry, still sitting there glaring at him, then looked back at the sandwich. _Oh, what the hell,_ he thought, reaching out and picking it up.

Ron was just about to bite into the sandwich when Harry waved his hand, making it vanish. Unfortunately, Ron didn't notice in time to stop his mouth in mid-bite. Instead of tasting bread and corned beef, Ron got a bite out of his fingers. And Ron didn't take small bites.

"Ouch!" Ron said, shaking his right hand, the hand he would need later that week to stop Quaffles. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Harry shrugged.

"Oh, come off it, Harry," Ron said, getting irritated. "You're obviously pissed at me for something. I sure as hell don't know what it's about, so why don't you tell me instead of sitting there glaring at me?"

"Oh, I think you know what it's about," Harry said. Ron was half-thankful his friend had finally spoken and half-wishing he hadn't, given his tone.

"No," Ron said again. "I don't know what it's about. What I do know is that you broke through my anti-Apparation wards into my flat and scared the living daylights out of me. I also know that you are now glaring at me for no reason, because I haven't done anything!"

"That's exactly right," Harry said. "You haven't done anything."

Ron blinked at him, nonplussed. "Care to explain that statement?"

"Oh, sure," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "So my partner and I were assigned a new case today – some tosser from the U.K. who has decided to spread his particular brand of evilness to the United States. Our boss tells us the Ministry is sending over the Auror who worked the case in England. And guess who shows up? My sodding _ex-wife._"

"Hermione?" Ron asked, frowning.

"No, my other ex-wife," Harry said sarcastically. "Yes, Hermione. My ex-wife traveled thousands of miles to work a case at _my _detective agency, and somehow my best mate neglected to inform me!"

"Whoa, wait a second," Ron said. "What exactly are you blaming me for here?"

"What does it sound like?" Harry asked, getting, if possible, even angrier. "Ron, you're my best mate! Didn't the fact that Hermione was coming to my detective agency seem like information you should share with me?"

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe I didn't know?" Ron asked. Harry didn't say anything in response, and Ron sighed. "No, of course not," the redhead continued. "You just had to find someone to blame, and you chose me."

"That's not – " Harry began, but Ron cut him off.

"Oh, come off it, Harry," he said. "I'm not an idiot. But I'm also not Hermione's keeper. She doesn't give me her itinerary before she goes on a trip, and quite frankly, I don't ask for one. She told me she was going to the U.S., but I thought it was because she was finally taking a vacation. God knows she needs one."

Harry sighed, chastened. "I'm sorry, Ron. I guess I just was so shocked by her showing up that I wasn't really thinking. I figured she probably told you she was going – she tells you everything, after all."

Now Ron sighed. "No, she doesn't tell me everything. Not anymore, anyway." Harry looked surprised, so he continued. "This divorce didn't just affect you, you know. Because of it, I've lost two best friends, including one who moved thousands of miles away because he couldn't stand being here anymore."

Harry blinked. "It's not as though I've been ignoring you, Ron. We still talk."

"Sure, we talk," Ron said. "But not the way we used to. There's this awkwardness because the divorce changed you. The same goes for Hermione; she's different too. It's understandable, but that doesn't make it any easier."

"You've been wanting to say this for a while, I take it," Harry said. Ron nodded, and he continued. "I guess I haven't been as … aware … of how the divorce affected other people, especially you. It certainly puts you in an awkward position. But I hope you do understand why I had to leave. I couldn't be around her every day – it was just too hard."

"I do understand, but it's still hard sometimes not to have my best mate here," Ron said. He sighed, then grinned. "By the way, speaking of being around Hermione, what did you do when you ran into her?"

Harry chuckled. "What do you think I did? I said hello, then got the hell out of there."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "And I'm sure that didn't make things awkward at all."

---------------

Hermione Granger had been in awkward situations before, but those had paled to the one she had just experienced.

She had come to America to track a suspect she had been following for the past 13 months. Regis Daniels was quite unlike any person she had investigated before. She'd encountered slippery suspects before, but those men and women paled in comparison to Daniels. He was beyond slippery; it seemed he was permanently coated in vegetable oil. He was nearly impossible to track because nobody knew what he would do next. His jaunt to America had come completely out of left field.

But wherever Daniels went, Hermione followed. It had been that way since she first took on the case. By now, it had become a personal vendetta. When Daniels got taken down – and he would – Hermione wanted to be the one to do it. So she had followed him to America, and she had encountered her ex-husband for the first time since he fled to the country a year and a half ago.

And the meeting had not gone well. After saying hello, Harry had stammered an excuse to his lieutenant, something about an illness, and left the building without a second glance. Joe Brooks had apologized for his behavior, but she shrugged it off. If Harry still wanted to run, that was fine with her. But she wouldn't let his attitude affect her persistence to solve this case.

Right now, she was sitting at Harry's vacated desk, gazing around the squad room. It looked … different than what she had pictured. It was smaller than the London Ministry for sure, but there was more energy here. People seemed to be going about their tasks with more enthusiasm than she was used to.

Her eyes fell on Harry's partner. Charlie was studying what appeared to be Daniels' case file, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the surface of his desk as he did so.

Hermione had read up on Charlie before she arrived, but she still didn't know much. She knew he was a fast-riser who was excellent at his job, but that was about it. _Sometimes I wonder how much a person's biography really says about him or her,_ she thought. In Charlie's case, his biography told her a lot about his accomplishments, but not much about him as a person. So she decided to find out for herself. _Can't hurt to get to know him, _she thought. _After all, I will be working with him for the foreseeable future._

After pondering how to engage Charlie in conversation, Hermione decided to go with the direct approach. Reaching across Harry's cluttered desk (she'd had to stop herself from organizing it for him), she placed her hand on top of Charlie's, stopping his drumming fingers.

Charlie looked up, surprised. "Sorry," she said. "Just … do you mind?"

"Oh!" Charlie said. "No, that's all right. I didn't even realize I was doing that."

"It's no problem," she said. "It's just something that bothers me. I can't even explain it." Catching his glance, she shrugged with an embarrassed smile. "Weird, I know."

"It's not weird," Charlie said, smiling crookedly. "Everyone has those little pet peeves. For example, I hate listening to other people eat. I always have to leave the room."

"Really?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Charlie said, warming to the topic. "If I'm eating too, I don't have a problem with it; I'm too busy concentrating on my own food. But when I'm not doing anything and somebody else is munching and crunching away, it drives me insane."

"No kidding," Hermione said. "Hm … that's a new one."

He shrugged. "Just the way I am, I suppose." A moment of silence passed before he cleared his throat and spoke again. "So … that was pretty awkward earlier."

Hermione smiled grimly. "So you noticed."

"Oh, yes. One of the perks of being a detective is that it gives you some awesome observational skills. It's especially helped me in my dating life."

Hermione frowned, confused. "What?"

"Never mind," he said with a laugh. "So you're Harry's ex-wife. I must admit, I don't know much about you."

"Yes, he probably doesn't mention me too much," Hermione said.

"No, I wouldn't say that," Charlie said.

"Pardon?"

"Well, he mentions you every once in a while. Brief mentions, nothing too specific. But he always catches himself before he says too much."

"Oh, Harry was always like that," Hermione said. "He guards his emotions pretty well. The same goes with his secrets." She paused, deep in thought. "He only really revealed them to me and our other friend, Ron. I think that's part of the reason I fell in love with him: because he trusted me enough to share things like that with me."

Suddenly, Hermione realized what she was saying and stopped herself. She looked across the desk at Charlie, who was leaning forward in interest. She hadn't meant to get so personal with a relative stranger. "Sorry," she said. "Sometimes I ramble."

"No worries," Charlie said. "Sometimes I do too."

Charlie held her gaze for a second, then cast his eyes downward. When he looked back up, he seemed to be steeling himself for something. "There is something I've always wanted to ask Harry," he asked.

"What's that?" she asked.

"What happened?" he asked. "I mean, why did you two …"

"Get divorced?" she asked, finishing the question for him.

He nodded, and she sighed. "It's a long story," she said.

---------------

"So, not to change the subject, but it is great to see you again, mate," Ron said. "We haven't done this in over a year."

"I know," Harry said. "I kept meaning to come back for a visit, but …"

"It was too hard," Ron said. Harry nodded, and the redhead continued. "I understand."

"You know, it goes both ways, Ron," Harry said, smiling. "You could come out to the States sometime."

"What, and have to see your pale arse at the beach or something?" Ron asked. "No thanks; it's better if we meet up somewhere nice and overcast."

"Oh, come on now," Harry said. "I'll have you know I have a nice tan."

"Did it decide to call off sick today, then?" Ron asked.

"Touche," Harry said. "Git," he threw in for good measure."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Tosser."

"Wanker."

"Arse."

"Jackass."

"All right, all right," Ron said, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I give." Harry raised his arms in victory. "So," Ron asked, broaching the subject carefully. "Are you coming to the match on Saturday?"

Harry just looked at him, so Ron continued. "I mean, I understand if you're busy. You have a hard job, and I get that. I just thought that maybe if you had the afternoon free –"

Harry smiled. "Ron," he said, interrupting the redhead. His friend stopped talking, and Harry drew a ticket out of his pocket in response. "I wouldn't miss it," he said.

Ron looked down, the tips of his ears turning red. "Thanks, mate," he said. "I just wanted you to be there."

"Don't worry," Harry said. "How could I not be? I know how hard you've worked for it."

And it was true. After Hogwarts, Ron had signed with the Cannons as reserve keeper, eventually earning a starting position after the incumbent starter struggled. From there, Ron had become a star, routinely taking the previously moribund Cannons to the playoffs. Until this year, however, the Cannons' run had always ended in the first round of the playoffs. While Ron had been a star, he was the Cannons' lone star.

But following the previous season, new management had taken over. The new owners went on a spending spree right away, trading for Viktor Krum to fill the seeker position and signing star chasers Katie Bell and Edward Kelly. Those moves had been enough to take the team further than it been in more than 100 years.

The Cannons weren't done yet, though. Their match Saturday with Wimbourne would decide who moved on to the championship match and a likely meeting with powerful Puddlemere, the three-time defending champion. Simply put, Saturday's match was huge.

"I'm glad you'll be there, mate," Ron said. "I'll need all the support I can get."

"Oh, piffle," Harry said. "You'll destroy them."

"I hope so," Ron said.

"Well," Harry said, standing up. "I should probably get going; it's getting to be pretty late, and I imagine you'll have practice tomorrow. But I'm glad I stopped by tonight, even if I did scare you."

Ron scoffed. "You didn't scare me."

"Well, mate, you were going to come after me with a spatula," Harry said.

"That was for protection."

"And why did you need protection?" Harry asked, a grin creeping onto his face.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron grumbled, shaking his head. "Oh, and Harry," he said, stopping his friend before he could Disapparate. "One more thing."

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"Can you try to work things out with Hermione while she's in the States?" Seeing his friend's frown, Ron pressed on. "I'm not saying to get back together with her, but you could at least try to work out some of your issues. That way, everyone won't be so miserable all the time."

"I'll try," Harry said, "but I can't make any promises. Things are just … awkward with her since the divorce."

"As you've told me," Ron said. "But you guys loved each other more than anything once."

"Love was never the problem," Harry said, deep in thought. "That's not what broke this marriage apart."

Ron caught what Harry didn't say in that sentence. "Harry, are you still in love with her?"

Harry frowned. "I don't know Ron," he said. "I just don't know."

And with that unsatisfying answer, Harry Disapparated, leaving his puzzled best friend alone, deep in thought.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please just take a couple of minutes and review, even if it's a negative review. I just want to hear some of your feedback.**


	3. Secrets and Lies

**A/N: Hello, everybody, and welcome back to the story. Sorry for the slightly late posting … I was doing a bit of rewriting on the last scene. I hope you can forgive me; in the future, I'll try to have updates up by earlier Tuesday evening.**

**Anyway, this chapter features a "situation" between Harry and Hermione, and a flashback to happier times. This story will have more flashbacks as time goes on; their purpose is to eventually show what led to Harry and Hermione's divorce. Their other, slightly lesser, purpose is to show happier times for Harry and Hermione, as I'm currently unsure how much happiness there will be for them in the future.**

**And again, I'd like to ask you to review when you've finished reading. Last chapter, the hits numbered in the hundreds, but I received only two reviews. (Thanks to you reviewers, by the way!) As I said last chapter, I'd like to receive about five reviews per chapter. I think it's an attainable goal, but I certainly can't do it without you guys.**

**Anyway, that's enough blathering on for now. Let's get back to the story, shall we?**

---------------

**Don't Stay**

**Chapter 3: Secrets and Lies**

---------------

----------------

_September 17, 2008_

_---------------_

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Hermione idly wondered how much annoyance a person's mind could take before said person turned insane. Whatever that limit was, she felt she was nearing it now.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Feeling her Annoyance Meter climb to the never-previously-reached Level 16, Hermione finally looked at her ex-husband, the source of her current irritation.

Harry was poring over Regis Daniels' case report, having not read it the day before. The tapping sound was emanating from the quill he grasped in his right hand, which he was unconsciously rapping against the desk surface.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Hermione closed her eyes. _Just ignore it,_ she told herself. _He's only doing it to wind you up. _

For a moment, she wished Charlie was there – at least then, she would have someone to talk to, some way to drown out the constant tapping sound. Charlie now knew this was one of her biggest pet peeves; it made her completely unable to stay focused.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Hermione sighed, feeling the last drops of her patience swirl down the drain. She closed her eyes, telling herself to focus on the other sounds in the office. Surely those sounds couldn't be worse than this.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

Hermione opened her eyes in exasperation. In her desperation to rid her mind of the endless tapping noise, she had unfortunately focused instead on the large clock that overlooked the trio of desks belonging to her, Harry and Charlie. And the constant ticking sound was no better than the constant tapping sound … in fact, it was worse.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Oh, enough is enough!" she suddenly exclaimed, no longer able to hold her tongue. Harry was now staring at her with an inscrutable expression on his face … but at least the tapping had ceased. "You are so irritating!"

Now it was Harry's turn to look annoyed. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "I wasn't doing anything!"

"Oh, yes you were," Hermione said. Now that she had started talking, she found she couldn't stop. "You were tapping your quill. You _know _how much that annoys me, yet you chose to do it anyway. And why? No doubt because you wanted to irritate me. Well, guess what? Your little passive-aggressive scheme worked because I am now officially irritated."

"Oh, please," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "You seriously think I'm doing that to annoy you? You give yourself far too much credit, Hermione. But why should I be surprised? You always do that, after all!"

"_I _always do that?" Hermione squawked indignantly, knowing she sounded undignified but somehow not caring. "I always do that? Don't pretend you're Mr. Modesty, Harry. Merlin knows you're not, Harry 'Look at me, I killed Voldemort by myself' Potter!"

"I never said I killed Voldemort by myself!" Harry said, reddening.

Hermione laughed humorlessly. "You certainly didn't bother correcting all your loyal worshipers every time they fell at your feet in Diagon Alley, did you?"

If possible, Harry got even redder. "You'd better shut up before you say something you regret."

Hermione scoffed. "I don't regret anything I've ever said to you, Harry Potter. Except, maybe, for 'I do.'"

And despite her words, Hermione instantly regretted saying that. Harry just stared at her, looking like he had been slapped … which, in a way, Hermione supposed he had. Wordlessly, he got to his feet and walked out of the squad room.

All of a sudden, Hermione was very aware of everyone in the room staring at her. And the stares certainly weren't friendly. Desperately, she cast her eyes around her desk for something she could focus on. Maybe then she wouldn't be so aware of everyone's eyes on her.

At that moment, Charlie walked into the squad room, sat down at his desk and pulled a file out of his briefcase, whistling. Looking up, he noticed the stricken look on Hermione's face, not to mention the stares of everyone in the room.

He frowned. "Did I miss something?"

---------------

Harry was pissed … the American brand of pissed, not the British version.

After a half-hour of stalking the halls of LAMPA in an attempt to calm his nerves (an attempt that failed rather miserably), he had returned to the squad room and immediately been called into his lieutenant's office. There, Brooks had told him in no uncertain terms that if Harry couldn't find a way to coexist with his ex-wife, he would be reassigned.

"But lieutenant -- " Harry had started.

"But nothing," Brooks had told him sharply. "I'm your superior, remember? You do as I say or face the consequences."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

He returned to the squad room, feeling like a scolded child, and sat down at his desk, steadfastly ignoring Hermione to his right. Charlie looked back and forth between the two so quickly Harry thought his neck was going to stop. He recognized the signs: Charlie was looking for something to say to lighten the tension.

Harry shook his head pointedly. The message was clear: Don't do it.

Charlie, who had opened his mouth to say something, closed it just as quickly.

Harry sat back in his desk, wondering how things had ever gotten so bad between him and Hermione. Things had been so different once …

---------------

_April 18, 2000_

---------------

_Nineteen-year-old Harry Potter sighed as he sank into his desk chair at Auror headquarters at the Ministry of Magic. He had just completed an 18-hour surveillance shift and was looking forward to going back to his flat and getting some much-needed sleep. Unfortunately, he had to stay until the morning shift arrived at eight o'clock, and it was just half-past seven now._

_After confirming this by glancing at his watch, Harry idly began flipping through the papers on his desk. He didn't have any paperwork or anything else to complete while waiting; he usually left the paperwork to his partner._

_Fifteen minutes later, he heard the unmistakable sounds of his partner walking toward him. He stood to greet her._

"_Hello, Hermione," he said cheerfully despite his tiredness. "Glad you got here early; I'm exhausted."_

_He received nothing but sniffling in response. Frowning, Harry peered at his best friend's face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she didn't appear to have gotten much sleep. _

"_What's wrong?" he asked. _

"_N-nothing," she said unconvincingly, her voice wavering. _

"_Hermione, I might not have received 12 O.W.L.s, but I'm not stupid," Harry said. "I know you too well to think there's nothing wrong with you right now."_

"_Harry, don't worry," she said. "It's nothing important."_

"_It's obviously important to you," he said, pushing the matter. "And if it's important to you, it's important to me."_

_Hermione swiped at her eyes. "I appreciate your concern, but it's really nothing. It's just … well, it's been a year."_

"_A year?" Harry asked blankly. Then he remembered; today marked a year since Hermione and Ron had split up for good. _

_The two had gotten together sometime during seventh year, when Harry was busy in the search for Horcruxes. He'd wondered about the timing, but he didn't question it. _

_Still, their relationship had remained much the same as it had been when they were friends. They bickered constantly and got on each other's nerves even more constantly. There were good times, but the arguments outweighed those. Altogether, Harry hadn't been surprised when they split up. He reckoned they were better as friends anyway. Indeed, it had seemed the breakup didn't affect either one of them. _

_But now it did appear to be affecting her._

"_Hermione, are you really upset you're not still with Ron?" he asked, frowning. "Or is it something else?"_

"_I don't know!" she said in a tone of frustration. "I don't think I want to be with Ron; Lord knows the relationship was a disaster. But I've seen those photos in the Prophet recently, of him out with those teammates of his, and I can't help but feel …"_

"_Jealous?" Harry finished for her. She nodded. "Well, of course you are. But you're not jealous of those girls dating Ron, you're jealous of Ron himself." Seeing her frown, he continued. "He's moved on, and you're not quite ready for that yet. He's going out with other people, and you aren't ready yet. I understand that feeling … I was the same way when I saw Ginny dating other men. But Hermione … you can't keep holding yourself back forever. You're too great of a woman to do that."_

_Hermione laughed shakily. "Thanks, Harry. But you don't need to lie to make me feel better."_

"_I'm not lying," Harry said. "Lookit … I don't know of another woman out there with your combination of wit, intelligence, looks, humor … you name it, and you have it. Any bloke would be lucky to go out with you; that's for damn sure."_

"_Oh, Harry," she said. "You're sweet, but again … you don't need to say those things."_

"_Yes I do. You may think I'm saying all this just to make you feel better, but I'm not. I don't do that, remember?" He showed her the back of his hand, where _I must not tell lies _was still visible after all these years. "I'm saying these things because I mean them. And I think you really need to believe them too. Believe me, Hermione … any guy would be lucky to date you."_

_She laughed, feeling slightly better. "Whatever you say, Harry. But I'm still not ready to date."_

"_That's fine," he said. "After all, that's up to you. But how about dinner with a friend? Is that something you'd consider?"_

_She laughed again. "Depends on the friend."_

"_Ooh, you're a tricky one, Granger," he said. "But how about it? I'll even pay for you this time … dessert and everything."_

"_Well, how can I say no to that?" she asked, smiling at her best friend. _

"_Great," he said, holding his arms open for an embrace, which she gladly took part in. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, "I have a date with my bed for some much-needed sleep."_

"_Oh, I see how it is," she said. "Abandoning me for a mattress. Some friend." But her eyes were twinkling, and Harry was glad to see it._

_He laughed. "See you tonight?"_

_She nodded. "It's a date."_

---------------

_Back to present_

---------------

It hadn't quite been a date then, but less than a year later, the two became a couple under some rather extraordinary circumstances. Harry smiled to think of it.

But now things were different. The two of them could barely stand to be in the same room as each other, whereas before they had been nearly inseparable.

Knowing Daniels wouldn't arrive in Los Angeles for another couple of days (he'd traveled to Washington first, to receive some sort of medal for distinction in the wizarding community), the three detectives spent an uneasy day in each other's company. Harry was beginning to wish he had asked the lieutenant for a reassignment; anything was better than this.

---------------

Unbeknownst to Harry, his partner was having similar thoughts.

Charlie wasn't used to situations like this. Sure, he had taken part in countless stakeouts, several of which had necessitated complete silence. But this … this silence was deafening.

But even worse than the silence were the subtle glances Harry and Hermione gave each other when the other wasn't looking. Charlie doubted they even knew they were doing this; he'd barely noticed, and he took a lot of pride in his observation skills. "Observation and Detection" had been his best course in training. Now, he was a guest lecturer for that class.

He had heard bits and pieces about Harry and Hermione's marriage prior to meeting either one of them. Though Harry wasn't the exalted celebrity in America that he was in England, he was still well-known. And because Harry was well-known, so was Hermione and his other best friend, Ron Weasley. It had been big news when Harry and Hermione got together, Charlie remembered, and an even bigger deal when they split up just four years later. The reason for the divorce was shrouded in mystery. Nobody had an inkling of why they were going their separate ways. Nobody, that is, except Harry and Hermione … and they weren't exactly about to divulge the reason.

But right now, Charlie was having a hard time dealing with being in the vicinity of Harry and Hermione. He considered his partner a friend, but he rather liked Hermione too after he had gotten to know her. Plus, there was that crush he had once had on Hermione …

Charlie pushed that thought out of his mind. _Not the time,_ he scolded himself. The fact of the matter was, he liked both Harry and Hermione. And right now, he didn't know how to bridge the gap between them.

He sighed. "I need a drink."

---------------

"I need a drink."

Harry was lost in thought when his partner made that aside, seemingly out of nowhere. He looked up: Hermione seemed to have had the same reaction to Charlie's statement, as she was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and intrigued curiosity.

Remembering the many times Charlie had invited him to the bar, Harry decided that now might be the right time to take his partner up on the offer. He cleared his throat. "So do I," he said.

"What? Charlie asked, surprised. "You want a drink too?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no," Harry said. "It's been one of those days."

Hermione was now looking at him, a skeptical expression on her face. He raised an eyebrow, daring her to challenge him, but she merely looked away.

"Well, all right," Charlie was saying. "After work all right with you?"

"Sounds perfect," Harry said.

---------------

_London_

_September 18, 2008_

_3:00 a.m._

_---------------_

Ron Weasley generally considered himself a heavy sleeper. It usually took something drastic for him to wake up before he was ready -- something like his best mate spotting a new spell in a used Potions book and deciding to use it. That day, Ron had found himself jerked awake by the feeling of hanging upside down by his ankle.

Of course, such situations were rare. Most of the time, Ron slept soundly through the night.

But not on this night. It had been another long and grueling day of Quidditch practice, so he had expected to sleep until noon the next day, when he had to wake up for yet another day of practice.

Yet after a few hours of sleep (and a rather nice dream involving him, Luna and an extraordinary meal, worthy of the Hogwarts Leaving Feast), Ron found himself suddenly awake. He didn't know why, but he had the feeling he had to be awake for something … even though he had no idea what that something was.

He soon found out.

_Crack. _

Though it was muffled by the closed bedroom door, Ron still recognized the sound of someone Apparating into his living room.

"Damn it, Harry," Ron said. "Can't a bloke get some sleep around here?"

Beside him, Luna stirred but did not wake up. She was an even heavier sleeper than Ron, usually only waking up to the shrill sounds of the loudest, most obnoxious alarm talisman. Incredibly jealous of her hidden talent, and grumbling about his insane best friend, Ron swung his legs out of bed. Yawning, he slid his feet into the Crumple-Horned Snorkack slippers Luna had bought him the previous year for Christmas and shuffled toward the bedroom door.

Hearing quiet footsteps moving toward the bedroom, Ron decided to beat his best friend to the bunch. Swinging the door open, he said sharply, "Oi, Harry! Perhaps you haven't noticed, but I do have a rather important Quidditch match coming up this weekend!"

The visitor stepped into view, and Ron abruptly stopped talking. The visitor wasn't Harry.

It was his other best friend.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, exasperated. "Doesn't anyone use doors anymore?"

---------------

_At that moment in Los Angeles …_

_September 17, 2008_

_7:00 p.m._

_---------------_

Harry raised his glass to his lips and took a healthy drink of beer, glancing around the half-empty bar as he did so.

He'd found out quickly that this bar was not like the Three Broomsticks, the Leaky Cauldron, the Hog's Head, or any wizarding bar, for that matter. For one thing, it wasn't even a wizarding bar.

He'd been surprised when Charlie had told him an hour before that he didn't like to go to wizarding bars -- "I get enough of that world at work, thanks," he'd said -- and instead preferred to frequent Muggle establishments. Apparently he was a semi-regular at this place; the bartender and a few of the sparse customers had waved at him when he entered.

But now, the two of them were sitting by themselves at a table in the corner, speaking in low tones about their new British partner.

"I don't know what it is," Harry said after swallowing his drink, "but when she showed up, all the memories came rushing back. The good memories, the bad memories … everything."

"But don't you think it's the same thing for her?" Charlie asked. "Just because she isn't showing a lot of emotion doesn't mean she isn't feeling a lot of emotion."

"I wish I could tell you," Harry said. "I used to be able to tell her emotions better than anyone.

"But now? I have no idea what she's feeling."

---------------

"I'm confused, and I hate being confused," Hermione was saying. "I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. I don't know what to feel. Should I be angry? Upset? Forgiving? I have no idea, and it's driving me crazy!"

Ron was silent.

"Well, say something," she said, annoyed. "What do you think?"

"I think I deserve a refund on those anti-Apparition wards," Ron said, "seeing as how they obviously don't work."

"Be serious, Ron," she said in exasperation.

"I am being serious."

"Are you really going to keep acting like this when I came to you for help?" Hermione asked, red splotches appearing on each of her cheeks. "Because if so, I'll leave right now."

Ron sighed. "What do you want me to tell you, Hermione? That those mixed feelings you have are going to pass?" Hermione said nothing. "Well, they're not. In fact, they'll probably get worse until you decide to actually do something about them. What's obvious is that you still have feelings for him."

"What?" Hermione said in protest. "I do not --"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say you were still in love with him. Though there is that saying about protesting too much, isn't there? But you still do have feelings for him, which is only natural considering how long you two knew and loved each other. Being separated from each other allowed you to bury your feelings. But being close together has brought them back to the surface. And they're not going to go away by themselves."

"So what are you saying, Ron?" she asked.

"I'm saying that you've been pretending for the last year and a half that your divorce wasn't affecting you," he said, "but it was just that: pretending. Whether you want to admit it or not, that divorce still affects you … and you can damn well be certain that it still affects him as well."

---------------

"Of course it still affects me," Harry said, responding to a similar statement from Charlie. "It hurts … not just emotionally, but physically. I feel like I'm not quite right, and I haven't been since the divorce."

"Then take advantage of her being here and work it out!" Charlie said. "This is something that doesn't go away on its own. You have to sit down with Hermione and get through this together!"

"It's not that simple," Harry said dismissively.

"You always say that. But I don't believe it. You two have loved each other since you were 11 years old, but now you're just burying that feeling. That's wrong. That's dead wrong, in fact."

Harry sighed. "Not this again," he said, frustrated. "Listen … love isn't the problem."

"Then what is?" Charlie said, exasperated. "What out there can possibly be so huge that it destroys a marriage between two people who have known and loved each other for years?"

Harry was quiet for one minute, then two. He surveyed his partner, deep in thought. Not many people knew the true reason behind his and Hermione's divorce. He and Hermione did, of course. So did Ron, and one other person who had taken an Unbreakable Vow of secrecy. Harry wasn't sure whether he should expand the list of people in the know to include his partner.

Then he thought, _Come on, Harry. The man's been a good partner and a good friend since you came here. He's the best friend you've got here. If you don't trust him enough by now, you never will._

He sighed. "You know, I've been keeping this a secret for so long that it feels unnatural to tell somebody." Charlie leaned forward in his seat, interested. "Now, you have to understand that few people know what I'm about to tell you. You cannot tell anybody else what I'm about to tell you. If you do, I will make sure you get what's coming to you … and you'd better believe I can back that statement up. Understand?"

Charlie nodded, wide-eyed. It seemed he was even holding his breath in anticipation.

Harry sighed again, then caught the waitress's attention and beckoned her over. "Two more beers, " he told her.

After she left, he turned back to Charlie. "Hope you don't mind, but I'm going to need a drink for this."

Charlie nodded. Harry sighed yet again.

"It all started a couple of years ago…"

**A/N: Don't you love cliffhanger endings? I know I do. You'll just have to wait till the next chapter to see how this scene works out.**

**In the meantime, please review! I really appreciate every one I get, but now I'd appreciate getting more of them.**


	4. Happy Birthday to You

**A/N: So it seems I created a miniature controversy with my decision to end the last chapter on a cliffhanger instead of revealing Harry and Hermione's big secret. **

**Let me say this. I mentioned in my author's note last week that I had been rewriting the chapter until the last minute, and the nature of the rewrites dealt with the secret. In the original chapter I did reveal the secret, but I ended up eliminating that from the final version. And don't look for the reveal this chapter, either … it's been pushed down the road to near the end of the story.**

**Before you get angry, please let me explain my reasoning for delaying the reveal. **

**It's not because I'm lazy or power-hungry, as one reviewer said. It's because this story centers around two major storylines: Harry and Hermione's divorce, and the investigation into Regis Daniels and his organization (which will begin to pick up in this and the next few chapters). The secret ties into both storylines. Because of that, I don't want to reveal the secret too soon. If I did that, it wouldn't affect the reader as much. By waiting to reveal it, I'm hoping to increase the secret's eventual impact.**

**That being said, expect some clues about the secret to come out in dribs and drabs. I don't want to string you readers along for too long; that's not fair to you. **

**I will say this: Five people now know about the secret. I've named four of them: Harry, Hermione, Ron and now Charlie. I purposely kept the identity of the fifth person a secret. If I had told you that person's identity, the secret would be very easily surmised. **

**Also, one reviewer said they hoped Harry wouldn't be made out to be the bad guy in regard to the secret. He won't be … trust me on that. **

**Whew. Now that I've said all that, I think it's time to get back to the story. It begins on Friday … two days after Harry revealing the secret to Charlie. (Sorry … I decided against including the immediate reaction because I didn't want to jerk you guys around by including the reaction and not the secret.)**

**Hope you enjoy the chapter! Please continue reading and reviewing -- I really appreciate all your feedback.**

**---------------**

**Don't Stay**

**Chapter 4: Happy Birthday to You …**

**---------------**

---------------

_September 19, 2008_

---------------

They sat across the table from each other, not speaking and barely looking at each other.

Harry stared at his menu intently, as though it, and not his ex-wife, was his breakfast companion on this Friday morning. Across the table, Hermione was looking out the window of the small café where Harry had asked her to meet him this morning.

Though neither would admit it, each was waiting for the other to make the first move.

Harry finally did. "You know," he said, his gaze not wavering from the menu -- Hermione rather doubted he was actually reading it, as he'd been looking at the same spot for the past 10 minutes -- "we will have to talk to each other eventually if we hope to succeed in this investigation."

Hermione sighed. "True."

"I'm not going to lie; this is probably going to be awkward for a while for me," Harry said, finally looking up. "It might not even stop being awkward. But we have to at least be civil to each other."

"I agree," Hermione said, looking him right in the eye. "We can't let our problems cause an issue with the case."

"Good," Harry said. "We're in agreement, then."

"Seems that way."

"Fantastic." Harry gestured for the waiter, who came to the table expectantly.

"Are you ready to order?" asked the waiter, a 20-something with shaggy brown hair and an earring. Harry pegged him as a rock-star wannabe who possibly had his own garage band.

"Yes," Harry said. "I'll have the sausage and eggs, made over easy, with a side of dry toast and a glass of orange juice. Oh, and whatever she's having," he added, gesturing toward Hermione.

Now the waiter was looking at Hermione. His dusty gray eyes raked her over appraisingly;

Hermione was rather pleased to see Harry looked annoyed by this. "Just coffee," she told the waiter, who nodded and strolled aimlessly toward the counter.

"So why did you ask me here today?" she asked when the waiter was out of earshot.

Harry shrugged. "I thought we should come to some sort of agreement about our problems. We couldn't very well go on yelling at each other like we did the other day."

"About that --" Hermione said. "I wanted to apologize for what I said. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Sure you did," Harry said. "I'm not dumb, after all. I understand that you probably have some lingering resentment toward me because I left England.

"That's not true," Hermione said quickly. Harry just raised an eyebrow in response. "Okay, maybe it is true. I thought I had buried that feeling, but apparently I hadn't. No doubt you know how much it hurt that you left."

Harry sighed. "I felt it couldn't stick around after everything that happened. It just hurt so much to stay there. I needed to get away."

Now it was Hermione's turn to sigh. "I suppose I understand that, deep down. But it still hurt. And it did keep us from trying to work out our problems."

"Oh, come on," Harry said. "I think we both know that at that time, we weren't going to work things out. Everything was still too fresh."

She sighed again. "I suppose you're right."

Another silence followed this statement. Hermione broke it by asking something she'd been wondering since her arrival. "Do you even miss it?" she asked.

Harry frowned. "Miss what?"

"You know, England. Your friends. Working as an Auror." _And me, _she added in her head.

Harry looked thoughtful. "Sometimes, I guess. It's been hard to live thousands of miles away from the place you always thought of as your home. I like my job here, but I felt I had some unfinished business as an Auror … some cases I would have liked to finish. And of course I missed my friends, particularly Ron. He's been my best mate since I was 11, after all."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "It seems to me you found yourself something of a Ron replacement here."

"Who?" he asked. "Charlie?" At her nod, he continued. "I suppose you could say that. I've even thought that myself sometimes. But I certainly don't want to replace Ron; I'd prefer to have both him and Charlie as friends."

"That makes sense. He seems like a good friend."

"He is."

Another silence; this one was broken by the waiter bringing their order. "Here you go," he said smoothly, setting Harry's food in front of him gingerly and handing Hermione her coffee. He bowed slightly in her direction, then looked embarrassed he had done so, walking away with flushed cheeks. Hermione felt amused; Harry just looked annoyed.

Hermione raised her mug to her mouth. "Today's my birthday," she said. "I'm 29 today."

Harry nodded. "I know," he said quietly, lost in his thoughts.

"I know."

---------------

_September 19, 2005_

_---------------_

_Hermione was awoken early on her 26th birthday by the sound of something crashing to the kitchen floor in the flat she shared with Harry Potter, her husband of three-plus years. "Damn it!" her husband swore. _

_Hermione smiled. Her husband attempted every year to make her breakfast in bed on her birthday, and his attempts never failed to amuse her. The first year, he had nearly burned the small flat down. The second year, the food had been woefully undercooked. _

_Now? Hermione sniffed the air and smelled something burning. Harry had apparently decided to overcompensate for last year's undercooked food by overcooking it this year. And that wasn't even mentioning his plate-dropping. Still, she appreciated his efforts._

_Now she heard his footsteps creeping toward the door, which suddenly swung open as if under its own volition. Her husband walked through the open doorway, carrying a massive tray of food. When he saw she was awake, he grinned. Hermione's heart fluttered; his smile never failed to make her knees weak. _

_Harry was singing now. "Happy birthday to you," he began, loudly and horribly off-key. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Hermione, happy birthday tooooo yooouuu!" He set the tray down in front of her and conjured a bouquet of flowers out of thin air, brandishing them with a flourish._

_Hermione chuckled. "My dear, I'm afraid singing's not your strong suit," she said, picking up her fork and spearing a bit of egg. "Nor is cooking, I'm afraid," she said after tasting the food._

"_Can't blame a man for trying, can you?" Harry asked._

"_No, not at all," she said. "In fact, I think it's rather cute to see your attempts to make me breakfast every year."_

_Harry grumbled. "Cute?"_

"_Yes, cute," she said. "Or perhaps 'adorable' is the right word."_

_His grumbling grew louder. "Come on, Hermione," he said, with an exaggerated whine. "You're ruining my credibility as the big, bad, Voldemort vanquisher. Calling me cute and adorable makes me seem less … manly."_

"_Is that so?" Hermione asked. "Well, in that case, why don't you come over here and show me how manly you are."_

_She didn't have to tell him twice._

---------------

_Present_

---------------

That had been the last happy birthday the two had spent together. Their separation and eventual divorce had occurred the following spring.

Harry was roused from his thoughts by the sight of his partner sliding into the booth next to Hermione.

"Ah, you jerks," Charlie was saying. "You ordered without me. But that's easily fixed, isn't it?" He got up again and went to the counter; Harry and Hermione watched him cheerily greet the woman who walked up to take his order.

Hermione turned to Harry. "You didn't tell me he was coming," she said.

"I told him to get here a half-hour after I told you to get here," Harry said. "I thought we should talk about the case. Daniels arrives in Los Angeles today, correct?"

Hermione nodded. "According to his flight plan and hotel reservation, he'll get here sometime this afternoon."

Once again, their conversation was broken by Charlie sitting down. "So what'd I miss?" he asked. "Big case talk?"

"Not really," Harry said. "We're just going over logistics, considering Daniels is getting here today."

"Ah," Charlie said, nodding. "Do we have plans for a big 'Welcome to Los Angeles' party? Because I never say no to a good time, you know." He winked at Hermione, who shook her head. "But that reminds me," he continued. "We know he's getting here today because of flight plans and his hotel reservation, correct?"

Hermione nodded. "That's right."

"Well, not to be a Johnny Raincloud, but doesn't that seem a bit … suspicious … to you?" Charlie asked.

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, think about it," Charlie said. "This is a man who is purportedly involved in a large-scale crime organization, and yet he chooses to travel by means we can easily track and stay somewhere we can just as easily track? That doesn't make any sense if you go by the criminal handbook."

"That's a good point," Hermione said. "Maybe he believes it's easier for him to stay hidden that way, because most wizards wouldn't think to check Muggle transportation."

Harry made a face. "I disagree," he said. "From what I've read, Daniels is smarter than that. I have a different possible explanation."

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"Either Daniels is too arrogant and believes we won't be able to catch him no matter what, or he's not as much of a major player as we thought," Harry said. "And I'm inclined to believe the latter. A true major crime leader wouldn't be dumb enough to move around so exposed."

Hermione was nodding. "That makes sense. It explains why he was a relatively low-level criminal until last year. He got involved in this organization, and all of a sudden his level of crime stepped up."

"And just because his level of crime stepped up doesn't mean he became a major crime figure," Harry continued for her. "It just means he started working for someone who was a major crime figure."

"Exactly," Hermione said.

Charlie was looking back and forth between his partner and Hermione, feeling a bit left out. He knew Hermione and Harry had used to work together, and it appeared they had picked up where they left off.

He cleared his throat. "So if what we're saying is true, how do we get from this lower-level guy to the guys we really want to find?"

Hermione and Harry both turned to look at him; they had been looking only at each other during the prior conversation.

"Well…" Hermione said.

"We follow Daniels," Harry finished.

Hermione nodded. "Exactly. He may not be who we want, but he can certainly lead us to them."

"Well, that's good," Charlie said. "So what's the plan?"

Hermione and Harry looked at each other.

"Well…" Harry said.

---------------

"I look utterly ridiculous in this thing," Charlie was saying two hours later in the luxurious lobby of the Hotel Superior in downtown Los Angeles, where Daniels would be spending the next three weeks.

"Stop complaining," Harry hissed to his partner. "And don't talk so loudly. We need you to act as lookout, and we needed to give you a plausible excuse for lurking about the lobby."

"Did you have to make me a freaking _bellhop, _though?" Charlie asked, his voice going up an octave on the word _bellhop. _

"Do you have any better ideas?" Harry asked. "Who else do you know that hangs about a hotel lobby all day?"

Charlie shrugged mutinously.

"Now, bellhop," Harry said imperiously, raising his voice. "My wife and I could use some help with our bags. Think you can handle that?" he asked in a patronizing tone of voice.

Charlie glared at him. "Yes, _sir,_" he said.

"Good," Harry said. "Come, dear," he continued, turning toward Hermione. "Let's go up to the room and see if it's worth all the money I'm paying for it."

"I'm right behind you," Hermione said. She'd been watching the hotel employees to see if they suspected anything fishy was going on, but the coast was clear. Nobody had seemed to notice the three of them at all.

As the three of them reached the elevator, Harry turned back to Charlie, who was holding three empty bags and acting as though they were full of rocks.

"Now," Harry said, "you've got to keep an eye out for Daniels. We don't expect he'll get here before we're done implanting the bugs in his room, but you never know. You know how to contact us if there's a problem, correct?" Charlie nodded. "Good. We should get this done as soon as possible."

"All right," Charlie said. "Good luck."

Hermione smiled grimly. "Thanks, but hopefully we won't need it."

---------------

"Nice room," Hermione said, looking around the empty hotel room where Regis Daniels would be staying.

She wasn't kidding. In addition to its king-sized mattress, Daniels' suite included a nearly full-size kitchen, a laundry room and a bathroom the size of her dormitory back at Hogwarts -- not to mention a large-screen television and a decent-looking collection of novels in a bookcase by the television.

For once, Hermione was jealous of criminals.

Harry nodded. "This makes my apartment look like the cupboard under the stairs all over again."

"Perhaps we should get this done before we make plans to move in permanently," Hermione suggested, still looking around and admiring what she saw.

Harry nodded again. "Good idea."

They set to work planting the magical bugs -- small spheres that were the size of a pea but could perfectly pick up anything said within a distance of 100 yards -- throughout the hotel room. They were just about finished with the job when they heard it -- the unmistakable clicking of the lock.

"Shit," Harry said. "Hide."

They both immediately headed toward the large closet adjacent to the bedroom, moving quickly but stealthily, just as they had learned to do in Auror training. They were in the closet within moments of hearing the click of the lock, and Hermione closed the door immediately.

"Colloportus," she whispered, locking the door.

Harry nodded. "Good idea," he whispered. He took out his wand, pointed it at the door and whispered, "Silencio."

The Silencing Charm meant whoever had entered the hotel room would not be able to hear what was going on in the closet, which Harry was grateful for at this moment; he feared his heartbeat alone would give them away.

Harry spoke now to his wand. "_Defero,_" he said. When his wand glowed blue, he spoke again. "Charlie!"

"Yes, Harry?" Charlie said. His voice was not heard out loud in the closet; rather, his message came into Harry and Hermione's ears, as the Communication Charm was supposed to work.

"Do you think you might have mentioned to us that Daniels was on his way up here?" Harry asked. "Just a bit of a heads-up would have been nice, you know."

Hermione could hear the frown in Charlie's voice. "Wait," he said. "Daniels is in the hotel room now?"

"Uh, yes," Harry said, as if speaking to a five-year-old. "Don't you think that's something you probably should have mentioned?"

Charlie's confused tone grew more pronounced. "Harry, if Daniels entered this hotel, he didn't pass me in doing so," he said. "And he couldn't have Apparated in, either. You know most upscale wizarding hotels put up Anti-Apparition wards -- and this place is just about the dictionary definition of 'upscale.'"

"Never mind how he got in," Hermione said. "The question is how do we get out? You're right; we can't Apparate out, so what can we do?"

"Hold on," Charlie said. "I think it's time for a little _diversion_." With that, Charlie cut off the communication.

Hermione turned to Harry. "I don't know if I like the sound of that. What do you think he's going to do?"

He shrugged. "Whatever it is, we'll probably find out soon enough."

Sure enough, not 30 seconds had passed when sirens began to ring out throughout the hotel, and a harsh-sounding message followed:

"_WARNING. FIRE HAS BEEN REPORTED IN THE BUILDING. EVACUATE THE HOTEL IMMEDIATELY."_

Harry grimaced. "Well, there's our answer," he said.

Hermione shrugged. "I guess it could be worse."

Harry surreptitiously took off the Silencing Charm and listened closely to the hotel room outside. "I don't hear anything," he said. "I think he's gone."

"Good," Hermione said. "I was beginning to get claustrophobic."

Once outside, Harry and Hermione blended into the crowd as best as they could before escaping to a secluded area across the street.

"That was a close call," Hermione said.

"You're telling me," a voice said behind them. Harry and Hermione both jumped, before realizing who the voice belonged to.

"Jumpy, aren't we?" Charlie said, standing a few feet away from them under the guise of watching the evacuated building.

"Yes," Harry said. "That's what generally happens when you almost get caught red-handed planting bugs in someone's hotel room."

"Did you finish the job?" Charlie asked.

"Barely," Harry said. "We'd just finished when we heard the lock click. But how did you get the evacuation alarm going?"

Charlie shrugged. "Never underestimate the value of a good 'Incendio' charm." He cleared his throat. "So why do you think Daniels got here so early?"

"It wasn't Daniels." Charlie and Harry both looked, surprised, at Hermione, who hadn't spoken in a while. She'd been too busy surveying the evacuated crowd of guests.

"How do you know it wasn't him?" Charlie asked.

"Well, I can't be 100 percent positive," Hermione said, "but I don't think he would have arrived so early. No, I think it was someone else in the hotel."

"But who?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. "No idea."

"Here's a better question," Charlie said. "What were they doing in Daniels' room?"

"Can't tell you that one either," Hermione said. "But I don't think there's any doubt we have to find out."

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please let me know what you thought by dropping me a review!**


	5. Quidditch for the Ages

**A/N: Sorry for the lateness in posting this chapter. It's been a long week already, one that's included a lot of work and an accident involving my car. Needless to say, I've been a bit distracted.**

**In this chapter, we'll be over in jolly old England for a rather important Quidditch match and the reappearance of some old favorites from the books. **

**Hope you enjoy it -- and if you can, please leave me a review. Today's my birthday, and reviews are like presents to any author.**

**Don't Stay**

**Chapter 5: Quidditch for the Ages**

---------------

_September 20, 2008_

---------------

The day of the Quidditch League semifinal match dawned clear and chilly. Still, the excitement in the air at Cannons Park, the home field of the Chudley Cannons, was tangible on this Saturday morning. The Cannons were looking to advance to the League Cup finals for the first time since 1892, when they had won the last of their 21 championships. And for once, the home crowd was confident their team had a chance to win the title.

From the entrance of the players' box, where he would be sitting for the match, Harry looked around the stands. There wasn't an empty seat to be found, and he felt thrilled for his best friend. He knew Ron deserved this moment; now, he hoped his best friend could make the most of it.

Harry looked down into the players' box, searching for familiar faces. At last, he spotted someone -- and the sight of her made him do a double-take.

Luna Lovegood hadn't changed much since her days at Hogwarts, both in looks and personality. She'd been dating Ron for two years; the redhead had finally gotten over her oddities and seen the woman underneath, a woman who had fancied him since fifth year. Harry had been shocked when Ron told him he was dating Luna; he liked the blonde well enough, but she still was … well, odd.

And her appearance this morning did little to dissuade Harry from that opinion. Luna had replaced the old lion's hat she'd worn to Ron's Quidditch matches at Hogwarts with a hat that resembled a giant cannon. Harry wondered what the people who sat behind her thought; it must have been tough to see over. He shook his head, but couldn't contain a slow grin from spreading over his face. One thing about Luna: She was definitely unique.

All of a sudden, Luna spotted him and waved. Harry waved back, walking down the rows to join her.

"Hello, Harry," she said in her dreamy tone of voice when he'd arrived. Her eyes were now fixed on the pitch, where the pre-match entertainment was taking place. The team's mascot, a muscle-bound human with a cannonball for a head, was getting shot out of a cannon and performing various acrobatic moves in midair.

"Hello, Luna," Harry said, removing his cloak and setting it down on his seat. "How are you this morning?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said, at last tearing her eyes away from Cannonball Charlie and his death-defying stunts. "How are you?"

"A bit tired," Harry admitted. He'd forgotten about the time difference and hadn't gotten as much sleep as he would have liked. "But I'll live."

"That's good," Luna said. "I think Ron was a bit nervous this morning. He was the most fascinating shade of green."

Harry groaned inwardly. Apparently even after a 10-year Quidditch career, Ron wasn't immune from the nervousness that had plagued him at Hogwarts. Still, he decided to be optimistic. "Well, I suppose it's natural for him to have butterflies in his stomach," he said. "It is a big match, after all."

Luna turned her wide eyes toward him again. She was frowning in confusion. "What do you mean, butterflies in the stomach?" she asked. "I don't think Ron ate any breakfast at all, actually."

Harry shook his head. "No, no, I didn't mean it literally. It's just an expression; it means he's nervous."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand it," Luna said. "Butterflies in the stomach … that's quite odd, don't you think?"

Harry bit his tongue, stopping himself before he responded. Instead, he said, "That's some hat you've got there."

"Oh, yes, isn't it?" Luna asked. "I realized how silly it was to keep wearing a lion's head when he plays for the Cannons, so I came up with this. And now the team actually wants to sell ones just like it. Can you believe it?"

Harry could not believe it, but once again he did not say anything. He heard the sounds of a large amount of people entering the stands behind him, so he turned around to look.

He froze. It was the rest of the Weasley family: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, George, even Percy … and, of course, Ginny, his ex-girlfriend. Harry colored, lowering his eyes; he and Ginny hadn't exactly gotten on well following the breakup. But as he looked to the side and saw a row of empty seats next to Luna, he realized where the Weasleys would be sitting. Inwardly, he groaned again. _I spend all week with my ex-wife, and on the weekend I have to see my ex-girlfriend, _he thought. _Perfect. _

But it was too late to run now. The Weasleys had reached their row, and Mrs. Weasley had immediately spotted him.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, immediately enfolding him in a tight hug. "How are you, my dear?"

"Doing well, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said. Molly had been upset when he and Ginny broke up, but she had eventually gotten over it; she saw Harry as a seventh son, after all, and didn't want to disown him simply because of a breakup.

"Hello, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, grasping his hand in a brief handshake. "Doing well, I hope."

"Yes sir," Harry said. He next shook the hands of Bill, Charlie, Percy and George, whose exuberance had been muted since the death of his twin during the final battle. He was also rather hard-of-hearing now, thanks to his missing an ear.

Then Harry was face-to-face with Ginny. She looked him dead in the eye, unblinking, as she moved past him to her seat.

"Ginny," he said by way of greeting.

"Harry," she said, with a slight nod. She sat down on Luna's other side, looking pointedly away from Harry.

_Great, _he thought. _The only way this could be more awkward would be if …_

"Hello, everybody!" came another familiar voice.

Harry sighed and hung his head. _You just had to go and jinx yourself, didn't you? _he thought.

Hermione had joined the group, exchanging hugs with the Weasleys and sitting down in a vacant seat next to Ginny -- the rest of the family had all shifted down a seat to make room for her.

"You came!" Ginny said. "I didn't think you were going to make this."

Hermione shook her head. "I couldn't miss this," she said. "He is my friend, after all." She caught Harry's eye and looked away, seeing him do the same. She also noticed Ginny resolutely looking away from Harry.

"So," Luna said. "This is rather awkward."

Harry snorted, recalling Luna's tendency to speak uncomfortable truths during her Hogwarts days. It seemed as though something else hadn't changed from back then. He absentmindedly twirled his Omnioculars around his fingers. "I wonder when the match is going to start?" he said, thinking out loud more than anything.

"Soon, I think," Hermione answered.

"Good."

They lapsed into silence again, waiting for the teams to be introduced. All of a sudden, a trumpet sounded and another familiar voice rang out.

"Welcome, everybody, to the semifinals of the British and Irish Quidditch League playoffs!" said the voice, which sounded to Harry exactly like Lee Jordan's "Today's match is between the visiting Wimbourne Wasps…" a round of boos sounded from the stands "…and YOUR CHUDLEY CANNONS!" Cheers met this exclamation, along with a BOOM from Cannonball Charlie's cannon.

Harry turned and looked down the row at George. "Is that Lee?" he asked.

George nodded. "He just joined up this year with the Cannons. He used to work for Puddlemere, but he always said their matches weren't exciting enough…seeing as how they usually destroy their opponents."

Harry nodded. "I can see that." He looked at Luna. "I take it you decided to give up announcing?"

"Oh yes," she said distractedly, gazing at the field. "I just did it the once, for fun."

Harry grinned. "Too bad. I was rather hoping to hear about Loser's Lurgy during today's match." He caught Hermione's eye again and looked away once more. Lee was now announcing the starting lineups.

"McCann, Keifer, Ekalda, Lincoln, Jones, Adams and Hughes," said Lee tonelessly, announcing the Wimbourne starting lineup. Harry held back another grin. Obviously Lee's partisanship hadn't diminished post-graduation. But any further thoughts about that were washed away when the crowd roared again. It was time for the home team to be introduced.

"Here come the Cannons!" Lee roared in his magically amplified voice. "It's Bell! Lee! Kelly! Jenkins! Bullock! Weasley! Annnnnnnnnndd……"

But Harry didn't get to hear Viktor Krum get introduced because at the sound of Ron's name, the cannon on Luna's hat had gone off with a very loud, and very realistic-sounding, BOOM. Harry jumped, not expecting this; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione do the same thing. The Weasleys, meanwhile, looked nonplussed; they were obviously used to this happening.

"Wow," Harry said over the cheers of the Cannons' faithful. "That was certainly … realistic, Luna."

"I know," she said dreamily. "That's why people seem to like it so much."

"Is that so?" Hermione said in a strangled tone of voice.

"Oh, yes," Luna said. Then, looking at the pitch again, she continued, "Oh, I do believe the match is about to start."

She was right. Ron was currently shaking hands with Wimbourne's captain, Gerald McCann. When they returned to their places, the match would begin.

---------------

As he shook hands with Gerald McCann, Wimbourne's burly All-Star Chaser, Ron felt like he was going to throw up. On the other hand, McCann looked extremely at ease; Wimbourne had advanced to the championship match in each of the previous three seasons.

"Nervous, Weasley?" McCann asked, running his free hand through his shaggy brown hair. "Can't blame you. I'd be nervous too, if I were you."

"Sod off, McCann," Ron said with a conviction he didn't feel. "You won't even get the chance to lose to Puddlemere this year."

McCann scowled, breaking the handshake. "Get ready," he said. "I'll be coming."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I'll be waiting," he said. He mounted his broom and soared to the south end of the stadium, toward the hoops he would be defending. He nodded to Krum as he passed, and the Bulgarian nodded back. Ron had put aside his childish grudge in the hope that doing so would lead to a championship.

Reaching the hoops, he hovered near the middle one, waiting for the whistle to blow and the match to begin. He was as ready as he'd ever be.

The Golden Snitch was in the air, followed by the Bludgers.

_All right,_ Ron thought. _Now all we need is the Quaffle._ _And there it is._

The whistle blew.

The match began.

---------------

Harry found himself watching the match quite 'd received a number of offers from Quidditch teams following graduation; every team from the British and Irish League had wanted to sign him, plus a number of teams from the many foreign leagues. He'd turned them all down; as much as he'd loved Quidditch, he hadn't wanted to play it as a career. But at times like this, he missed playing the game.

The Cannons were currently leading the Wasps 70-30, much to the delight of the partisan home crowd.

Despite the Cannons' current advantage, Harry could tell that Wimbourne had a vastly superior Chaser line. The Cannons were in the lead only because Ron was playing out of his mind. Though he'd allowed in three goals, he'd saved at least two dozen chances by the Wimbourne Chasers.

Harry watched as Gerald McCann stole the Quaffle from Katie Bell and moved down the pitch all by himself. McCann swerved to avoid a Bludger hit by Joey Jenkins, the Cannons' longest-tenured player, and flew in on Ron. Eyes narrowed in concentration, Ron watched McCann feint to the right and hurl the Quaffle toward the left hoop.

But Harry saw that Ron had anticipated the move; he'd begun flying to his right to block the hoop before McCann had even thrown it. He snared it easily, as Luna's hat let out another large BOOM.

Ron grinned and tossed the Quaffle down the pitch to Eddie Kelly, who promptly moved in on the Wimbourne Keeper and scored. For the eighth time that game, Cannonball Charlie was shot out of his cannon; he did a somersault in midair and landed gracefully, his arms raised in triumph.

Then Harry noticed Krum go into a dive. The Bulgarian had spent most of the match hovering high above the pitch near the hoops Ron was defending, occasionally moving to change his vantage point. Once, he'd attempted his old go-to move, the Wronski Feint, but Wimbourne's Seeker hadn't been fooled.

But now Harry knew Krum had seen the snitch; he'd spotted it too, fluttering near the grassy surface of the pitch at midfield. His dark eyes narrowed in concentration, Krum flew toward the middle of the pitch. Wimbourne's rookie Seeker, Bobby Hughes, was hurtling toward midfield from the opposite end of the pitch.

Harry held his breath. It was going to be close …

_CRACK._

The entire stadium winced at the sound of the two Seekers running into each other at full speed. Both of them immediately collapsed off their brooms and fell to the surface. Krum landed on his back, eyes closed in pain; Hughes sprawled facedown a few feet away.

For half a minute, the stadium was silent – it seemed everyone was too nervous to even _breathe. _

Then … a gigantic roar.

Krum had raised his right arm. Clenched in his fist, clearly visible to everyone in the stadium, was the Golden Snitch, which looked like it was frantically trying to fly away. But it wouldn't escape this time.

The fans rose as one, leaving their boxes, hurtling down the stairs so they could swarm the pitch. Harry, Hermione, Luna and the Weasleys didn't join them. They were too busy watching Ron, who looked happy enough to spontaneously produce a Patronus.

Harry's face _hurt_, he was grinning so much. His friend had done it; he was finally going to play for a championship.

And he couldn't think of anyone more deserving.

---------------

"I can't believe it!" Ron was saying an hour and a half later in the Cannons' giddy locker room, a grin splitting his flushed face. "I mean, this is absolutely incredible!"

"Congratulations, Ron," Harry said. "You deserve it."

Ron waved that comment off. "It's not about me. The whole team deserves it; we've been waiting for something like this for a long time."

"Really?" Harry said teasingly. "I couldn't tell."

Following the match, the fans who had stormed the field had borne Ron and his teammates up on their shoulders for an old-fashioned victory lap around the pitch. After that, the players and their families and friends retired to the dressing room for the post-match victory party – which, although not as rowdy as some of the Hogwarts victory parties Harry had experienced, was still quite boisterous. Hundreds of people were crowded inside the dressing room, and Harry felt himself jostled to and fro by family members who were moving about. Not that he minded, of course.

"Wonder how Puddlemere is doing," Ron said. "Their match was supposed to begin a while ago."

"It's probably over by now," Harry said. "I don't think Falmouth would have lasted long against them."

Puddlemere was playing the Falmouth Falcons in the other semifinal match. While nobody truly believed Falmouth would pull off the upset, they hoped that the notoriously dirty Falcons would at least injure a few of United's key players.

"Yes, but we can still hope," Ron said. "Bloody hell, I don't fancy trying to stop Puddlemere."

"Don't worry about it right now," Harry advised. "You've got two weeks to prepare for them, after all."

"Too right," Ron said, grinning. "Besides, this is a party, right?"

"Right," Harry said.

"Then we should – what's the word?" Ron asked. "Oh, that's right: Party!"

He raised his bottle of firewhiskey in salute to Harry. "To victory," he said, draining a quarter of the bottle and then gasping in pain. "Still burns, even after all these years," he said. Harry just shook his head.

Then came a clamor from behind Harry. "Mr. Weasley!"

Ron groaned, rolling his eyes. "Oh, bloody hell," he said. "Here comes the press."

Harry felt himself pushed aside by the national Quidditch press, which quickly surrounded his best friend; he couldn't even see Ron past the cameramen and Quick- Quotes-Quill-wielding reporters. Suppressing a grin – it seemed Ron had finally learned fame wasn't all it was cracked up to me – Harry looked around for familiar faces.

He spotted Hermione and Ginny talking in a relatively undisturbed corner and, ignoring the Awkward Alarm going off in his head, made his way over to them.

"Hello, ladies," he said.

Hermione looked surprised to see him; Ginny, meanwhile, muttered something about finding her mother and left quickly.

Harry shook his head as he watched her leave. "It's been eight years since we broke up," he said. "Why is she acting like it's been eight minutes?"

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe it's because she still hasn't forgiven you for breaking it off with her," she said, as if the answer was obvious.

He rolled his eyes. "Give me a break. We all knew it had to happen eventually."

"She didn't, apparently."

"Even if she didn't know that at the time, she's had eight years to mull it over," Harry said. "We weren't in love with each other – it's as simple as that."

"Yes, well, I think there's some ego involved in it too," Hermione said. "On her end. She doesn't expect men to break up with her."

"Oh, I'm sure of it." They lapsed into companionable silence, before Harry spoke up again. "Do you realize we're actually having a normal conversation?"

"I do." Hermione paused. "Is that allowed?"

"I won't tell if you won't."

"Deal."

They were silent again, surveying the crowd.

Suddenly, Harry frowned. "Hermione," he said.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Is it just me, or does that man look familiar?" he asked, pointing at someone currently chatting with Norm Banks, the Cannons' coach. The man's chestnut brown hair was extensively gelled; it looked like he'd been out walking in the rain. He wore square, owlish-looking designer eyeglasses and an expensive-looking dark pinstriped suit. As Harry pointed, he threw his head back in laughter, slapping the gruff-looking Banks on the shoulder.

Hermione followed his finger. "Bloody hell," she whispered. "Eric Avarin." She turned to Harry again. "You recognized him from the Daniels case file?"

"Yes." Avarin had been photographed numerous times with Regis Daniels; he was a suspected associate of Daniels. "So what can you tell me about him?"

"Let's see," Hermione said, biting her bottom lip as she thought. "He's English-born, very proper – he started off very modestly but is now one of the wealthiest men in Britain. He went to school in Spain and set up a banking business there after graduation. The business has now expanded into France, Germany, Italy and the U.S., and is threatening to replace Gringotts as the most successful wizarding bank in the U.K."

"Interesting," Harry said. "And now he's being photographed with suspected criminals. I wonder what he's doing here?"

"There you guys are!" said Ron's voice. They looked over to see their friend walking toward them with long strides. "Ginny told me you two were over here," he said when he'd reached them. "Only just got away from the pests – I mean, press. Bloody annoying, aren't they?"

"Uh huh," Harry said distractedly.

"At least they told me the result of the Puddlemere match," Ron went on, oblivious to his friends' distraction. "Puddlemere smoked them, 400-50."

"That's nice, Ron," Hermione said.

Ron frowned. "What's with you two?" Then he seemed to get an idea and smiled. "Am I … interrupting anything?" he asked suggestively.

"Oh, Ron, don't be ridiculous," Hermione said. Harry frowned at this.

"Well, then, what is it?" the redhead asked. He followed his friends' gazes. "What are you looking at Mr. Avarin for?"

"You know him?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Of course I do – he's one of our new owners," Ron said. "He's actually the 'silent owner' – he owns most of the shares of the team but prefers to keep it quiet. I've only ever met him once."

"Really?" Harry asked. "I wonder why he'd keep his ownership a secret."

Ron shrugged. "I've never really thought about it," he said. "Maybe he just likes his privacy. It doesn't really affect me, so long as he continues to sign my paycheck. But why are you interested in him?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. "No reason," they said in unison.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I see," was all he said.

Harry and Hermione exchanged another look. He could tell she was thinking the same thing as him:

_Who was this Avarin guy, and what interest did he have in owning a Quidditch team? _

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed. If you could, please drop me a review; I would appreciate it.**


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